


A Night at the Opera

by AM Slaughter (PoisonWrites)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Genderfluid Character, Jealousy, Nipple Play, Other, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 06:37:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20169778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonWrites/pseuds/AM%20Slaughter
Summary: Stationed in Venice, it was Aziraphale’s job to push those he came in contact with towards the Lord. Sometimes, this involved making friends, and when friends were made, opportunities arose. Take, for instance, a spring evening in 1854; Aziraphale found himself in possession of two tickets to La Traviata, premiering for the second time at Teatro La Fenice. Fem!Crowley





	A Night at the Opera

**Author's Note:**

> Gender fun times! Because I am very bisexual, and fem!Crowley is everything. Using she/her pronouns, because I felt as though they were the best fit for this fic. Crowley is very, very genderfluid.
> 
> Enjoy!

Stationed in Venice, it was Aziraphale’s job to push those he came in contact with towards the Lord. Sometimes, this involved making friends, and when friends were made, opportunities arose. Take, for instance, a spring evening in 1854; Aziraphale found himself in possession of two tickets to  _ La Traviata _ , premiering for the second time at Teatro La Fenice. 

He was dressed to the nines, a white hat tucked next to him, and a suit just as bright. The suit was so bright, in fact, it seemed to illuminate the darkness of the carriage he sat in, waiting for…well, he had two tickets after all. 

If you had asked Aziraphale, he would have told you he owed Crowley. The last time they had a moment alone, it was during the Reign of Terror, which had constituted suitable “alone time” for the next decade. Nonetheless, Crowley had saved him, and now he was returning the favor with a night at the opera (never mind all the other “favors” he had done in the years between). 

The thing was, if Aziraphale was being honest with himself (which he rarely was), he would have invited the demon no matter what. Crowley was…yes, one of the fallen, but he was also kind, and funny, and somehow, the only friend Aziraphale had on earth. As things were, he couldn’t imagine spending hours at a potentially dull opera without Crowley making snide comments in his ear. 

“Right this way, ma’am.” Aziraphale heard the doorman say, and the carriage compartment opened to the night air. He moved to look towards the sound. 

“Thank you,” Her voice was fluid; soft, but rich and commanding. She allowed the doorman to help her into the compartment, before he slid it shut behind her. 

Aziraphale was at a loss for words.

“Oh, all right. Pick your jaw up off the floor, angel.” She… _ Crowley _ , Aziraphale was realizing with equal parts wonder and shock, was gorgeous. She brushed a stray lock of auburn hair out of her face, righting it with the rest. Large curls were woven together atop her head, while shorter, looser curls hung down, brushing her throat. He had the urge to reach out and touch them, see if they felt like they had back… _ back in Eden _ .

“You look…” He couldn’t. There were no words.

“Lovely? Beautiful?” There was a jolt as their carriage began to move, “I should hope so. Spent far too much time putting this outfit together.”

“ _ Heavenly _ .” 

Crowley’s eyes snapped to meet Aziraphale. “What?”

“I—I’ve never seen you like this.” Crowley narrowed her eyes. “Like…a woman.”

“Golgotha.” 

“Forgive me, my dear, I had not known.”

“It’s fine. Don’t use this form much anyways, but,” she shrugged, and goodness, her dress was low cut, “I thought it suited tonight.”

It did, although Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure she was going to blend in. Her emerald dress revealed milky shoulders, the only thing covering her above her bosom a silver brooch engraved with a serpent. It was held in place by a velvet band, clasped tight to her throat. Below, her waist was corseted, giving her the distinct hourglass shape that was the height of fashion. Her skirts, black and jewel, flowed gracefully out from her hip, the entire look completed with black opera gloves. Her cat-like smile was painted a deep red, and her eyes were hidden behind opaque shades.

“You may attract a bit more attention than you’re intending.”

“All attention is good attention.” She winked, and Aziraphale sighed.

“Our benefactor was kind enough to make sure we had our own box. I’m afraid the spectacle may be limited to our entrance.”

“Then we better make it a good one.” With that, she leaned forward and kissed him. She tasted like honey.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale pulled back, but only by a fraction. Goodness, she was warm, and soft. Had Crowley’s lips always been so soft?

“What? You expect me to sit through this entire opera and not have a bit of fun?”

“Yes, like most people when they attend—“ She cut him off with another kiss, this one searing straight to his bones. He moaned into it, allowing himself to bask in her touch for what felt like an eternity. She swiped her forked tongue across his bottom lip, and he opened, welcoming the serpent in and allowing her to make a home deep inside him. 

They continued, Aziraphale growing hotter and hotter under his cravat the longer they stayed together. Crowley had always been lithe, but like this, there was something all the more serpentine about her. By the time they heard the carriage hand give a cry outside, she was nearly in his lap, long limbs wrapped around him, holding him fast. Aziraphale had hardly noticed. 

“Been far too long since I’ve had this,” She whispered, her breath ghosting against his lips. “Paris, right?”

Aziraphale licked his lips, “There was the brief detour in Osaka…”

“Ten years, angel.” She kissed him again, sweet and lingering. Under him, Aziraphale felt the carriage slow. “Mind your lips.” She moved out of his lap and smoothed her dress. 

Aziraphale miracled away the red smudges just as the carriage door opened. Crowley turned, glancing over her shoulder one last time before she allowed herself to be helped out of the carriage. Aziraphale steeled himself, taking a deep breath, and then followed.

—

The entrance to the opera was bustling like Aziraphale had never seen. Men and women swirled around in all colors, from sapphire and gold, to black and crimson. He thought they all looked rather like a confection, with lace and curls piled high like meringue, and on his arm, the most delectable cherry. 

She stood a great deal taller than the other women, her heels elevating her to a stately height. She was even taller than most men, especially Aziraphale, who was maddeningly on eye-level with her chest for their entire walk to their seats. Every time she stopped to speak with one person or another, their eyes were immediately drawn to the pale, soft flesh. At first, Aziraphale had thought the cut was an aesthetic approach, but, as yet another aristocratic man’s eyes drifted away from his wife, down to Crowley’s ample bosom, the angel realized exactly what temptation the demon was engaging in that night.

“You could have warned me.” He whispered to Crowley as he pulled her away from a gentleman that was getting a  _ bit  _ too close for Aziraphale’s comfort.

“Tell you what?” She cocked an eyebrow, but her smirk betrayed her.

“That you were planning on tempting tonight.”

“I have not the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come now. You cannot tell me you don’t see these men staring at you like a piece of meat?” Something clenched tight in Aziraphale’s stomach. 

“You jealous, angel?” 

“I—“ Another man approached, and this one greeted them with a laugh.

“Signora Crowley! How long it has been.” His Italian had a distinct Tuscan accent, one not often heard in Venice. Approaching the couple, Crowley held out her hand, only for the man to take it and kiss it with a bow. Aziraphale gave him a cold grimace. 

“It has been so long, signora. How long has it been since Florence? Two years?” His eyes shone with something Aziraphale very decidedly did not like.

“Oh, more than that. Must be going on three by now. Oh!” She wrapped her arm around Aziraphale’s, pulling him closer, “Signore Lucca, meet my husband.” 

If words alone could discorporate, Aziraphale would have been staring at the white walls of heaven. As it was, however, he felt his whole body flush, right up to the roots of his golden hair.

“Ah, Signore Crowley.” The man, very big, and quite muscled (really,  _ him? _ ) bowed. Aziraphale returned it. “You are one lucky man. A delicacy the likes of signora are hard to come by.”

Crowley giggled, something high and feminine, “Really, signore, you are too kind.”

“Pleasure meeting you,” Aziraphale said, “but we really must be going, dear. The show will be starting soon.”

“Right, yes. A pleasure as always, Signore Lucca.” Crowley gave a final courtesy, before she allowed Aziraphale to lead her away.

They walked in silence to their seats, which were up several flights of stairs. They stayed arm-in-arm until they reached heavy, ebony curtains, which Aziraphale drew back to reveal two red, velvet seats overlooking the stage. They were walled off on both sides, giving the angel and demon their own small space within the massive theatre. 

“Cozy.” Crowley remarked. Her glasses were now off, and in her hand, a pair of opera glasses. They were held to her face as she looked towards the stage.

“Quite.”

“Your friends must really like you. How did you say you got these tickets?” Crowley asked as she sat herself on the cushioned seats.

“I’m friends with one of the performers, if you must know. She’s meant to be one of the most famous stars in opera.” He joined Crowley in their seats.

“Hmm, she must like you a great deal.”

“And what of it?” Perhaps he snapped with just a bit more teeth than he meant to, “You seemed to have quite the fan downstairs.”

Crowley waved her hand, “He’s a politician, angel, they’re all that way.”

“Well, he presumed to know you  _ very _ well.”

“You really didn’t notice?” She turned to him, and oh, her face was flushed, and her golden eyes were narrowed.

“Wh—?”

“He referred to you as Signore Crowley.” She cut him off, “I was married when I knew him.”

“Oh.”  _ Oh. Wait, what?  _ “How long?”

“I’ve been a married woman since I left Osaka. Since 1846.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale felt like he couldn’t breathe. There was something, yes something, rushing up his throat, and then, like a spring rain, laughter burst forth. He lost himself in a fit of giggles, unable to stop himself as he heard the demon next to him join in.

“What on  _ Earth _ made you do that?” There were tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

“Oh, well, you see,” A gloved hand moved to wipe at the corner of her eye, “my husband was a very,  _ very _ important diplomat. So I was left in our apartment, all to my lonesome, and what’s a girl to do, but go out and snare souls for Satan?” 

“So you and him, you…?”

“Satan, no. Reminds me far too much of that prick boss of yours.”

Aziraphale snorted. As he did so, the gas lights began to dim around them, putting him and Crowley into darkness, leaving only the stage illuminated. Applause rippled through the audience as the first performer of the night walked out on stage.

The first half of the show was uneventful, in terms of the events inside their box. The music was wonderful, and oh, how divine Signora Spezia sounded. Crowley kept a close eye on the events, only once ever moving her hand up Aziraphale’s thigh just  _ so _ . Aziraphale mentaly brushed it off, no matter what other parts of him wanted.

The thing was, Aziraphale had never been exceptionally partial to the female form. Yes, it had its beauty just as every Creation did, but when it came to Aziraphale’s personal, more discreet tastes? Truthfully, he had to admit, he did not see the appeal.

Well, he didn’t see the appeal until Crowley was leaning forward, and her bosom looked close to falling out of her dress. Aziraphale tore his eyes away, and took a deep breath through his nose. Thoughts of what may be blooming between the demons legs were summarily pushed out of his mind as the first act ended, and the intermission began. 

The intermission was a short one, but enough that Aziraphale felt a bit more composed once the lights in the hall went back down. This time, Crowley leaned in closer to him, her red hair tickling his neck. She smelled like a lovely combination of lemon and bergamot, with the deepest hint of brimstone. Aziraphale breathed her in.

“You smell lovely.” He whispered against the shell of the demon’s ear. She hummed and nuzzled into his neck, keeping her eyes directed towards the stage. 

“Do you remember what the cherry blossoms smelled like?”

“From last time? Of course.”

“So I’m assuming you remember what you did with your tongue under them.” Her hand was back on his thigh, eyes no longer on the stage.

“W-which part?” Goodness, there had been so much. Under the cherry blossom trees, the sun baking them into a lazy haze of nothing but desire. He had tasted every part of Crowley under those trees.

“The part where you were between my legs,” her hand was now very much on his groin, and despite all manners Aziraphale had learned over the centuries, he found himself responding to her, “and you took your tongue down just a bit farther than normal, and I thought to myself, well, we should try this again.”

She squeezed, and he gave a slight squeak. “I see.”

“Would you like to try it again?”

“Right now?” He wished he could sound more scandalized, but her steady rhythm was taking all of his thoughts.

“Should I ask if Signore Lucca would like to help, instead?” 

That did it for Aziraphale, and he pulled her into a hot kiss. She moaned happily against him, right away setting the pace to something less than polite. She was like fire against him, pressing hard against him and demanding more, more,  _ more _ .

“You minx.” Aziraphale sighed as he broke the kiss.

“Do you want to stop?” Her hand slowed.

“Not at all.”

“Then don’t.” Her hand picked up the pace again, and bless, Aziraphale was already hard in his trousers. Crowley had always been good with her hands, knowing just how to move and twist to send Aziraphale into shivering incoherencies. Even with the fabric between them, she was still playing him with such an easy grace, Aziraphale found it hard to believe he would last long.

“Would you get on your knees for me, angel?” Crowley whispered to him.

“ _ Crowley _ —”

“Show me that I’m all yours. Make me yours.” Blasted demons and their penchant for dirty talk. Oh, the things it did for Aziraphale…

“Would you let me?” Now his hands were moving, down from where he had, at some point, cupped her sharp jaw, down to her bare shoulders. He grazed his fingertips lightly over her breasts, and she sighed. 

“ _ Yesss. _ ”

“Sensitive?” Aziraphale asked.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He roamed farther, down her tight waist, to where her hips met the seats, and beyond that. She anticipated his movements and rucked up her gown, allowing him to run a hand up her smooth thigh. She gasped as his hand met the space between her legs.

“No undergarments?” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. The demon had stopped working him over, her fingers now dug into the cushion.

“Didn’t think I would need them.” 

“Naughty demon.” He dipped his fingers, and  _ oh,  _ she was already so wet. Her thighs were damp, and her folds slid apart easily for him as he worked between them. She dropped her head, resting against Aziraphale’s shoulder. He worked a moan out of her, moving the tease a single finger around her clit before diving lower, deeper. 

“Ah!” She cried out as he slid one finger into her. “I thought you had never worked with thisss before?”

“I haven’t.” He pulled his finger out, and then slowly, gently moved it back in. He felt her clench around him, trying to take more than he was offering. Like this, he was able to move his hand to where he was playing with her clit, gently teasing it with his thumb. 

“However, I  _ have _ been around for over 6,000 years. I was there when the earth was created, including this.” He gave a small thrust, “You would have to be positively dull to not be able to work things out from there.”

“Mmmm, angel,” She kissed him again, from his mouth, to his ear, and down his neck, “Put your mouth on me. I want you to know what I taste like.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but chuckle, “I have done so  _ many _ times, dear.”

“Not like this.” She moaned, rocking her hips against his hand. “ _ Pleassse _ , angel. Please.”

“You ask so nicely.” With that he withdraw his finger, putting it to his lips. He hesitated, only for a second, before he put his lips around it, tasting her. There was no helping the moan that came from him.

“My dear,” he popped his finger out of his mouth, now clean, “you taste divine.” 

Behind them, the audience applauded, and a number seemed to end. The lights stayed down, however, and the angel and demon continued to be indifferent to the show. The stage completely forgotten, Aziraphale moved to his knees on the floor, situating himself between Crowley’s thighs. He had no idea he would be so hard from this, just from teasing and playing like they were. There was the distinct feeling of a wet spot on his trousers where his cock was leaking, which spurred him forward, driving him towards her.

“Enough room?” She asked, sounding somewhat strangled. Still, with so many skirts…well, he didn’t want to sacrifice her pleasure.

“Lift your gown, just a bit.” He directed, and when she did, he slipped his head under. It was hot, dark, and warm, the scent of her permeating the space. He felt giddy, and slightly mad on the smell of her sex; it was something like the earth, and salt, and maybe a bit of ozone. Like something bright, hot, and alive. Something burning. 

Aziraphale put a hand on her thigh, pushing slightly to get her to spread her legs wider for him. She complied, giving him enough room to see her, as well as he could in the low lighting. He thought she looked much like a spring bloom, petals open and pink. He moved his other hand to her, spreading her folds. She moaned at the touch, which grew in pitch as he leaned forward, licking a strip up the length of of. Under his hand, her thigh muscles trembled.

“A-anytime now, angel.”

_ Patience is a virtue, _ he thought to himself, but complied anyways. He allowed himself to lick around her entrance, moving up with small licks and kisses before giving her clit the smallest kitten lick. She bucked up against him, a hand moving to the top of his head over the dress. He sucked her into his mouth.

“ _ Sssssshit _ .” She sounded wrecked. 

After several long, torturous sucks he moved back down again, savoring her wetness and lapping greedily at it. He could feel it running down his chin and on his cheeks, all from burying himself closer to her, wanting more and more of her delicious scent, her taste. 

“Never have I tasted a fruit so delectable as you, my dear.” He whispered, unsure if she could hear him, but she grinded against his face nonetheless. In response, he dipped his tongue into her, where her wetness was spilling out of her. He heard the fabric over his head being twisted, and felt the pressure of her hands pressing down on him even more.

He had a rhythm now, moving his tongue in and out of her, nosing up to suck on her lips, and then up to her clit, where he would play with her until she was mewling with want. Back down he would go, tongue in her, tasting her sweet essence, then back up, feeling her shake so softly underneath him, he was worried she was coming apart at the seams. 

“Need you,” She was begging by the time he was several passes in. Her voice was like a sob, deep in the back of her throat, “need you in me.”

He emerged from under her skirt, but left his hand to tease her entrance, “My fingers?” He asked, and slipped into her with two. She was so wet, she took them easily, all in one stroke. 

“ _ More _ .” She canted her hips down. From the stage, the sound of a violin drifted. 

“You’re asking for me to have you  _ here _ ?” He quickened his pace, fucking his fingers into her, hitting her clit with his thumb with every inward thrust. She nodded.

“ _ Pleassse _ .”

With a final kiss to the inside of her thigh, Aziraphale stood, righting himself. As he stood, his forgotten hardness pressed against his fly, a reminder of how badly he wanted  _ her _ , too. A reminder of how badly he  _ needed _ her. He sat down next to her, and cupped her face with one hand.

“Would you like to be in my lap?” He brushed his thumb across her jaw.

“These skirts are heavy, you’ll have to help me.” Crowley gave a sly grin.

“That should hardly be a problem,” he played along, wrapping an arm around Crowley’s waist and scooping her up, settling her dainty frame in his lap. She let out a surprised gasp. “No problem at all.” He kissed her lightly.

There were times, when Aziraphale was not expecting it, that he would arrive at his flat and find notes. Over the years, they had become somewhat of a custom; every five or six years, he would get a warning about creating small, frivolous miracles, and for the next several, he would be good. But then, sometimes around year three, his patience would begin to wear thin, and somehow, his tea would stay warm all day, or the bookshop would right itself at the end of a long night. Currently, he was on year five, and, with his hands still on Crowley’s waist, his fly came undone under her dress.

“Oh,” she cooed, now feeling her partner’s full hardness as she ground down. Her hand slipped between the skirts, taking hold of him. A few strokes with her silken glove, and she was aligning Aziraphale with her entrance, slowly, agonizingly slowly sinking down onto him.

“ _ Crowley _ ,” and if Aziraphale didn’t sound like a hissing demon. She was tight, but warm and slick, holding him in a way that didn’t feel like anything they had ever tried. He had to breathe steadily for a moment, willing away the heat licking up his spine.

“Move.” It was a command. Digging his fingers into the side of her corset, he lifted her a fraction, only to bring her solidly back onto his lap. She hummed, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Like this, her breasts were nearly pressed against his face. 

“Again, please. I need more.” Crowley shivered on top of him, and Aziraphale complied by lifting her more this time, almost off of him completely, before slamming her back down. He was sure the cry she made had caused at least one concert-goer to look their way.

Aziraphale couldn’t care about anything, though, not when Crowley, this new and inviting and  _ delicious _ part of Crowley was on him, keeping him rooted in what was their world. He repeated his previous action again, and then again, until she was bouncing in his lap, her wetness transferring to his thighs as she moved with him, seeking her own pleasure. 

On her chest, Aziraphale laid open mouth kisses, each lick getting closer and closer to the edge of her gown, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled at the fabric, and the soft skin that disappeared behind it, working to free her breasts from the corset. It took a second of work, but it was worth it, seeing his demon’s newest feature. Outside the corset, her chest was small, but firm and perky with dark nipples. He sucked one of her nipples into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it as he felt her rhythm on his cock stutter. 

“You’re going to discorporate me.” Her voice was breathy, and her head was thrown back. From the stage, the music swelled. It matched the sound in Aziraphale’s ears; a dull whisper like waves crashing on the ocean. It was coming closer, the harder Crowley rode him.

“You are divine,” he whispered against her breast. He pinched one of her nipples, “You are the most heavenly things I have ever seen. All the angels in heaven could not compare to you.” 

Crowley’s hand was on herself, working her clit in time with Aziraphale’s thrusts. He pushed her hand away, playing with her as she had been doing moments earlier. 

“Don’t stop,” there was a fine sheen of sweat on her chest, making her glisten in the low light, “Please Aziraphale, please—”

“Your very essence is holier than all the waters of heaven. To be in you is to see true pleasure,  _ oh, Crowley _ —”

“Yes,  _ yesssss _ —” Her hands were fists in his shirt, gripping tight, tighter just as she tightened around his cock. “I’m—” She moaned, just as the audience began their rapturous applause for the finale. Aziraphale, buried deep inside her, still working her through her orgasm, felt his own overtake him. Everything was hazy, except for Crowley; her warmth, her pleasure, filling him up until he spilled deep inside her, cumming with a cry that would have given them away, if not for the cheers below.

When Aziraphale was finally able to open his eyes, he saw that, first of all, Crowley’s hair was a mess. Her curls had all but completely fallen, the fastidious pins that had kept it together sticking out at odd angles. Secondly, her chest was still exposed, heaving and flushed. He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her breast.

“I should have manifested that a  _ lot _ sooner.” Crowley sighed. She stood, moving off of Aziraphale, who found the sudden lack of warmth a shock. 

“Do you think anyone noticed?” They really weren’t as secluded as he had thought. Anyone from the audience could have looked up, or across the aisle, and they would have seen… _ goodness _ .

“Actually,” She waved her hand, and her hair and breasts were both back in place, “the opera was very good. Many will go on to say they simply could not take their eyes off of it.” Her yellow eyes beamed.

“Naughty demon.” Aziraphale laughed.

“You love it.” She leaned forward, and kissed him with all the sweetness of a peach.

“I do.” He closed his eyes, and relaxed against her, feeling their hearts beat.  _ He did. _

—

The ride back to Crowley’s current quarters was a sleepy one, Aziraphale nearly dozing off several times as they made their way there. When the carriage finally stopped, Crowley’s opera glasses had turned back into small, dark shades. She looked at him over their tops.

“When am I to see you next?” She sounded flippant, but her eyes stayed steady on Aziraphale.

“I’m to be in London by 1862.” He took one of her gloved hands. She did not pull away, but he felt her flinch.

“So am I…” She paused, flicking her eyes away. “Another ten years, then?”

“Eight.”

“Close enough,” She sighed, and she pulled his hand up to kiss it, as though he were a maiden. “I may look different, next time.”

“Crowley, I—“ Aziraphale was cut off by the carriage door opening. 

“Miss?” The hand asked, offering his to her.

“Visit me.” She said in a hurry. “Before then. Before another eight bloody years pass.”

Aziraphale chuckled, pulling her in for a kiss. He knew nothing; not time, or land, or bodies would separate them. Nothing. But Crowley…if Crowley needed to hear it, he would tell Crowley all day.

“I would not dream of leaving my wife alone for so long.” He whispered against her lips. “Do take care.”

Crowley left the carriage, and only looked over her shoulder once as she exited. Summarily, the door closed, and the carriage began to move away. The figure of Crowley, in all her extravagant skirts with her fiery curls, began to grow smaller. Something inside Aziraphale sunk, growing cold at the idea of not seeing her for another eight years. No, he was now sure; he would not last eight days without her touch.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Did you know that green dresses used to be dyed with arsenic? I didn't! Finding this out, though, I knew Crowley had to wear a green dress. Special thanks to Tennyo in the discord server for bringing this to my attention.
> 
> Kudos and comments appreciated! 
> 
> My writing tumblr: https://poisonwrites.tumblr.com/


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